Now, had the Irregulars done most of this, or was the mine intended to be this way? He inclined toward the latter possibility. It looked like a mine, not just a storage facility. There were many more tunnels and shafts than a mere underground warehouse would warrant, most of them empty. No, it would not be wise of the Irregulars to put all their explosive eggs in one basket. The mine preexisted; the rebels were only squatters.
He was about to comment on all of this, when Sativa suddenly halted and he had to skid on the linoleum-like floor to keep from colliding with her.
“What —?”
Her hand shot up to muffle him.
She whispered in his ear, “I heard something.”
They retreated.
Soon, at their backs came voices. Barked orders. Echoing footsteps.
Turning left at the next crossing tunnel, they hurried along as fast as they could, passing stacks of crates. They made another turn farther along, then were faced with a decision: Go toward the central shaft, into the thick of their pursuers, or away, toward a possible and even probable cul-de-sac.
They chose the dead end.
Sixteen
Port of Dreams
“So, what happens out there on the Sea of Oblivion?”
The place was full, though the patrons were subdued, as usual. Smoke drifted ceilingward. Hushed conversations, except for the one between two men at the piano bar.
Glasses tinkled as the piano player did a soft, slow rendition of “These Foolish Things.”
“Nobody knows,” said the other barfly. “No one’s ever come back from the Sea.”
“Yeah? I need another drink. I don’t like this being dead business.”
“So what’s to like? It’s the way things are, my friend. You pays your money and you takes your chance.”
“I still don’t like it. I bought my boat today. Those chandlers charge an arm and a leg to outfit a boat.”
“Ship.”
“Whatever. Anyway, I ship out tomorrow, on the tide.”
“Time and tide. Good luck.”
“Hey, are you supposed to say that? I mean, isn’t it bad luck to wish a sailor good luck?”
“That’s actors.”
“Oh. Actors. I hope I make it back. Kinda like it here.”
“It’s just a way station, they say.”
“Wish it wasn’t. Wish we could just settle down right here, open up a nice little business, something like this tavern. Hire a piano player, like this guy.”
“He’s pretty good.”[15]
“Yeah, he is. Hey, buddy, you’re a pretty good piano player, you know that?”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah. Here’s something for ya.”
A gold coin linked into the tumbler on the baby grand.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t mention it, pal. Don’t mention it. Hey, where I’m going, who needs money?”
The other barfly said, “You need it to get where you’re going.”
“Hey, that’s true. You die without the cash, you’re up the creek without a paddle.”
“Or up the river.”
“Yeah, and you need to get down the river.”
“On the other hand, if you get sold down the river, you might wind up up the creek without a paddle.”
The first barfly burst into laughter.
“Hey, that’s pretty good. That’s funny. Hey, piano player, wasn’t that a great gag? Huh?”
“Yes, sir, sure was funny.”
“You’re too kind. Why the hell am I making jokes, though? I wish someone could tell us what the hell
“Who wants to know? What good would it do if we did know?”
“I’d feel better, somehow, knowing.”
“Like you said, it’s inevitable. You pays your money, and like that.”
Conversation continued. Before long the piano player launched into “You Belong to Me.”[16]
The two barflies listened.
“I never saw the pyramids.”
“Neither did I. What the heck are pyramids?”
“I guess we’re not from the same world.”
“Nah, I guess not.”
“I wonder if there’s more than one afterlife.”
“Huh?”
“If there are many worlds — and I hear there are indeed a shitload of them — I wonder if there aren’t a whole assortment of different and differing afterlives. Maybe this is just one of a number of possible ones.”
“Hey, that’s interesting.”
“Just idle speculation.”
“What do you think about that, piano player, huh?”
“Sir, I think the gentleman is right.”
“Hey, what do you think of that? Maybe in some afterlives, you get everything free. I’m all for that.”
“But here money is a token of moral worth, my friend.”
“Is
“It means your life didn’t amount to all that much, friend. Just like most folks. You left the world you lived in more or less the way you found it, neither better nor worse for your having been there.”
“Hey, I did okay.”
“Not saying you didn’t. Just saying you’re an average guy, like me.”
“Yeah, that’s me. Average. I like it that way.”
“Nothing wrong with it. Now, take our friend, here, the piano player. He brings music to the world.”
“This ain’t the world.”
“The netherworld, whatever it is. He creates a little beauty, makes people happy. That’s something. Me, I couldn’t play “Chopsticks.” No talent for anything.”
“I thought you said you were a businessman.”
“Yep, but I didn’t show any particular talent for that either. I just got by.”
“Hey, buddy, that’s all you can expect. Just to get by.”
“But it’s all over, now. All over.”
“Don’t go sappy on me. Come on, drink up. I’ll buy you another.”
“Thanks. Let’s buy the piano player a drink. Whaddya say?”
“Sure. Here, pal.”
Two more gold coins plunked into the tumbler as the piano player finished the tune and did a short finale.
Scattered applause.
